Vengance
by Starfleet Commander Koberhavn
Summary: When the new queen lost control at her crowning, it was said no one had died. They were wrong. This is the tale of one man's vengeance, another's redemption, and a criminal's plan for global domination. Who will survive, who will die? Only time can tell.


Prologue

The streets were empty of all but four people. They scurried past a guard and out the gate. Outside of the city was a massive windswept wasteland. Sand swirled and shifted haphazardly with the faint breeze. The people mounted several humped animals and spurred them on towards the north.

The man, clearly the father of the family of four, turned and murmured to the one behind him. Faint sounds erupted from the city, flares of light lit the streets as plumes of smoke rose. The family rode on, leaving the war swept region behind them. Some distance behind them, three ripples followed.

The sounds of dieing men filled the air. All around, soldiers and guards attempted to hold off waves of bandits. A guard extinguished a spitting face before slashing the chest of another. He kicked back the assailant and plunged his saber into it's heart. Grabbing the strange spear-sword of another, he hurled it into a bandit archer. The guard smashed yet another into a building and gutted him. He drew back and looked around in bewilderment. The bandits had backed off a few feet. Their ranks split as an elaborately dressed bandit walked forward. The bandit slowly unsheathed a large sword. It's handle about two feet in length while the blade was 5 feet with a serrated, single edge. The guard gulped as the bandit flourished the blade with the familiarity of a master. He looked about wildly as the bandit slowly advanced. Accepting his fate, he took up a defensive stance. The bandit rushed forward and delivered a smashing overhand blow. The guard barely managed to deflect the slash, staggered as he was, he couldn't deliver a counter. The bandit took a quick step back before delivering multiple slashes that the guard fended off with an effort. He kicked the bandit back with his foot and attempted to take the bandit's head off. His eyes widened as the bandit casually flicked his blade aside and plunged the serrated blade into the guard's abdomen. He watched as the bandit took their helm off. The guard choked in surprise. The bandit was clearly female. She tore the blade out of the guards gut and slammed it into the ground by her side. She balled her fist up. The guard watched in horror as flames flickered around her fist. She slammed her fist into his face. The fist scorched a hole through the guard's face, boiling his brain. Around her, bandits roared and clashed their weapons in triumph.

A stout, fair-haired, man lay on a small cot. He, along with many other men, were sleeping deeply from a strenuous training exercise. Like a comet, one flaming arrow arced over the wall, then sunk into a building. The thatch roof quickly ignited and soon was a blaze of fire. A hail of arrows followed, each hitting a roof or wall. Bells sounded in alarm and troops poured out of the barracks like ants, only to be caught in the open by arrows. The flaming missiles slew many, but more kept coming. They marched up onto the walls and took up defensive positions, spears and stones matching the ferocity of the arrows. The screams of dieing filled the air as the missiles took their toll. The fair haired man stood in a column of bowmen, waiting to take the place of a dead man. He nudged the man next to him. " Namor, Ten gold says I kill more than you."

The man, Namor, chuckled grimly." Not with the amount of ale you drank before bed. You can barely walk. They should have named you Drunkard instead of Oslak."

Oslak socked him on the shoulder before standing next to him on the wall. Both men bent, grabbed a spear from the pile, and hurled it simultaneously. The spears found their mark and the men scratched a line on the wall before repeating the process. As the night wore on and the butcher bill grew higher and higher, both men gained a nervous tension. Numerous scratches covered the wall next to them, they had all but given up on counting, and still the enemy came. They were like a tidal wave of steel and fire, sweeping across the land. Nothing but death and destruction was left in their wake. Oslak slipped into a trance of sorts, detached from the world, his body still performing the grisly task, his mind wandering. Shifting from the dark beauty of the flaming arrows, to the macabre scene below him.

A harsh, bright, light shook him from his daze. Oslak's eyes widened at the fireball streaking towards him. He dove to the side as it smashed into the wall. The resulting explosion blew the wall apart like it was pebbles. He barely rose to his knees before a surge of troops poured through the hole. Oslak watched the enemy. They were clad in scale armor and wielded odd spear-swords. His mind grew distance and his vision fuzzy as they ransacked the fort. Any soldier that got in their way was cut down with brutal efficiency. Oslak fell back amongst the rubble as consciousness fled.

( Author's note: This, being the prologue and the beginning of my first fanfic, is just alpha stage. Constructive criticism is welcome with open arms. I plan on making this a _**VERY**_ large story. Starting at the King & Queen's death, as well as a slightly plausible explanation, and forward, until I tire of writing. Updates will probably start out sporadic, but will most likely smooth out. Chapter One will be coming out shortly. Patience young padawans. )


End file.
